Trolleys and Aisles
by rookieD
Summary: (Post 4.13 bite size 6 pack). Sam and Andy talk about re-packing their grocery cart. Or something like that.
1. Eggs

_Essentially this is a longish one shot that I'm breaking into bite-size pieces (roughly 6). This chapter is the first of those bites._

_It takes place beyond 4.13: Sometime post surgery, but well before Swarek can get his sorry ass out of bed for himself. Ollie's still in a hospital gown too. (Not that there's anything wrong with that)._

_Rated T for Sam's internal cursing. That kind of thing. _

* * *

**Eggs**

* * *

"You, uh. You gonna eat this, buddy?"

Sam tilts his head to the side, far enough and just in time to notice Shaw already has a spoonful of jelly and custard aimed toward the roof of his mouth.

Sam smiles, small and involuntary. He's relieved Ollie's alive. Is glad they're all still here, frankly. Would probably be downright elated if it weren't for the clusterfuck that led to all this.

He waves a wrist at his friend, slow, and without a lot of effort really put in. Every part of his body still burns as it moves. Everything. The worst (physical) pain of his life. It might have something to do with the recent deaths that he's had.

("Twice, Sam," McNally informed him a couple of days ago. When he was finally breathing without the aid of plugs, tubes, and machines. "They had to resuscitate you _twice_."

Sam didn't know what hurt more – the residual pain of having his chest thumped one too many times, or the cracks in her voice. He was also a little concerned that the look on her face might kill him again.

"Sorry..."

"Shut up." The sweaty palm she'd had barely touching the bone of his wrist was suddenly gone to wipe at her face.

"Sorry...")

"You see her earlier today, Sammy?" The spoon is out of Shaw's mouth now, making its way back to the dish that was dumped in front of Sam about an hour ago. "McNally. She in here before?" Oliver's not watching anything bar the utensil that's headed toward his mouth.

Neither is Sam.

"You talk to her yet?" Shaw asks around his second mouthful and some uncomfortable silence. "You gonna tell her everything you told me? Before? What you told me out in the woods? Everything that needs to be said?" His buddy lifts his gaze, makes sure he catches Sam's eye this time around. "Sooner the better, you know –"

Sam shuffles a little, turns his face to the direction it was originally at. That re-run of Bonanza he hadn't been watching before is looking like must-see-TV right about now. If he happens to grimace, it's only because another potential Cartwright wife has just died.

Sam blinks.

"Oh, no, no, no," Oliver insists, head shaking so much Sam's bed almost moved. "That the way it's gonna be again? You taking the Charlie Chaplin approach?" Shaw grunts, takes a couple of breaths and then sighs. "There are no damn answers in silence, Sammy. Nothing you want is gonna be found there, my friend." By the end of the allocution, Ollie has resorted to a mutter and frown. "Should know that by now."

Sam lets out a small breath. It's almost a yawn. He's so fucking tired, he just wants to sleep. And it's not that he doesn't want to talk about some things. When he can stay awake for longer than half an hour, that is. In fact, there's 35 years of crap he wouldn't mind getting off his chest. He just doesn't want to talk about talking about things. Because he is well and truly done with _that _kind of thing.

"You stole his lunch?" McNally's cop voice is a godsend. Loud and firm, it perks Sam right up. "Again?"

Sam's renewed sense of energy in the last few seconds has him turned enough to scan her form up and down. She's got her hands on her hips, but she's definitely more relaxed than she was yesterday. And the day before that. It might have to do with the fact that she's not in uniform, or maybe it's because it's the weekend. Whatever the case, her sashay through the doorway this afternoon suggests she's almost across the eggshells that paved the path before this.

Sam grins – a second attempt after the first one got bitten back. "Hey."

McNally's smile is all sunshine. It fills the whole room. Gets warmer still as she hovers over his bed. She puts a bag on the side table and bends at the waist. Plants a kiss on Sam's forehead - just like every visit before.

Clearly, there are still some eggs left to be cracked.

"Hey," she replies, a little less to the smile. Her eyes shift to Shaw, and so do her hands.

A battle ensues over Sam's hospital dessert: McNally v Shaw. Both are gripping at the plate like it's a gun.

Sam waits patiently for the whole lot to be spilled.

"Swear to god, Oliver," McNally hisses, her jaw clenched and the stare she gives perps. "If you took his sandwich as well –"

"He told me I could have it," Oliver gapes, no sign of relinquishing what he's got in his hands. "And if you need to keep tabs, I gave him some of my damn 'tatoes, okay?"

Sam raises his eyebrows. He's pretty certain the potatoes were on _his_ lunch plate in the first place, and that Shaw had pilfered a few while Sam was asleep…

But. Right now they're all wasting valuable time and Sam could care less about the excess or lack of starch in his meal.

He reaches a hand out – relieved that there seems to be less pain with each stretch. Places it gently on McNally's left hip. "The custard's not even real," he explains, hoping to distract her, get her attention on him. "I don't think they used eggs."

It does get her attention. She freezes in the spot, a look that can only be described as 'mortified' starting to etch itself into her face.

Sam watches her, every second of his day infinitely better than a whole bunch before. "Gross, huh?" And he should be embarrassed with the way he sounded just then: pre-teen at the fair.

He's not. (Embarrassed that is).

McNally gets a grin up again. This one is crooked and aimed back at Sam. "So wrong," she agrees, eyes and nose abhorred with the thought of pistachio ice cream and such matters all over again.

Sam can feel his face twitching some more. He keeps his eyes locked on hers. Rubs his thumb, just a centimetre or so along the band of her jeans, testing. "Let Shaw have his damn eggless custard," Sam says, voice going far too soft and spongy for a conversation this light.

McNally doesn't move. Smiles some more though. "Everyone knows eggs bring life to dessert." Sam thinks she's trying to inform Shaw of this fact, even though her eyes are still fixed on Sam's.

Sam can't see Oliver for all the tunnel vision he's got himself at the moment, but he hears his pal groan. Is pretty sure there's some eyebrow going on when his buddy finally chips in. "I'll leave you two Martha Stewart's alone to swap recipes then, shall I?"

"You'll be needing your afternoon nap anyway," Sam agrees, still unable to take his eyes (or hand) off McNally.

Sam does catch sight of Oliver then. Can't be avoided, really. His best friend makes himself known by getting himself to the foot of Sam's bed. "Be sure to share those recipes, yeah?" Shaw says, painfully obvious in his seriousness. The direction is aimed at Andy as well, Ollie staring her down all the way until he finally backs out the door and leaves them alone.

With Shaw out of the way, Sam decides it's time for a talk. He fixes a couple of fingers around one of the McNally beltloops, and tugs.


	2. Sugar

…..

**Sugar**

…..

McNally leans with the pull, doesn't resist one little bit. Almost trips over her feet and falls on the bed when Sam lets go to point at a seat.

He grins again, stupidly pleased with the ensuing fluster she makes with her hands.

"I, uh. I'll go to the cafeteria. Get you some more food. You need to eat."

From where Sam is sitting, it looks like McNally's gone shy. He can see the blush creeping around the shell of her ears. He really wants nothing more than to tuck her hair behind it, watch the pink travel all the way to her cheeks. Only, by the time he'll manage to get himself in a position to do that, he's reasonably sure Andy would already be halfway out the door.

(She's taken full advantage of various modes of distraction since Sam's been awake. Day one it was the endless array of medics demanding to constantly check that Sam was in fact still alive. Day two it was the sequence of visits from the rest of 15 –

Right on cue, she'd excuse herself. "Okay. They said maximum of two at a time for a couple of days…and I gotta get back on shift anyway, so…" Then she'd kiss Sam on the forehead and rush out the door.

And right on cue, Sam would wonder whether 'shift' was code for some other thing.)

"Stay," he tells her now, without too much fuss.

McNally's in another freeze-frame position. Her eyes have gone very wide. The only really thing continuing to move is the blush.

He gestures to the chair again. Calm and steady because he knows what he wants.

She opens her mouth a couple of times. Nothing comes out, except maybe some air.

Eventually, she takes a step, then inches her way down and into the seat. "Okay…" She sits straight and rigid, wide-eyed rookie all over again.

"Okay," he says, small smile to reassure her that he's not about to eat her alive.

"Or…like…" she tries again, index fingers pointing six different ways to the door. "Yeah…I could go out. Get you _real_ food. Because. God, Sam. If you don't like what they feed their patients, you should see what they serve up to visitors here. It's like…I dunno…are they trying to make more work for themselves?"

Sam holds back a laugh. Primarily because he knows it'll hurt so damn much. "You think they need extra clientele to fill up these beds?"

McNally replies with enough laughter to make up for his lack. "Totally," she says in between it all. "That is…" She nods repeatedly, then shakes her head in a way that makes Sam think about hambulances, henways, and that sort of thing. "Ugh," she continues, possibly not wanting Sam to say anything that might catch her off guard. "It's the _sugar_, Sam." She takes a breath, leans in and rests her elbows on the edge of the bed. Looks at him intently…but not quite. "Seriously. In a hospital. Of all places. There is _way_ too much sugar down there…"

"You love sugar," Sam manages to interrupt, playful but determined. Half the trash he insisted on keeping in his truck that time was evidence of McNally's candy related crush.

Andy sits back on her seat, offended. She shakes her head furiously, as though Sam has accused her of the most heinous of crimes. She moves her chair forward finally, leans into his space again. Gives Sam some of his own shtick with a stare that makes him realize there's more than one type of sugar-related-interaction she's about to dispute. "I _like_ sugar," she corrects, voice quiet and wavering at the edges. "_Like_," she confirms. "_Like_, as in…oh, I dunno. Everyone _needs_ _insulin_, okay? Insulin is our friend."

Sam presses his lips together. Puts his eyebrows up. Stares back at her. "True," he agrees, after a longish silence. He nods his head a few times. "Apparently it's essential for energy." Sam stares some more, dares not to move an inch.

McNally nods back, seemingly satisfied that Sam's now on her page. "But," she sighs. "I have to tell you, Sam. I'm a changed woman. I've learned my lesson from all that junk I used to eat. I mean -" She pauses for a second, checks that Sam is still staring at her. "It was a good idea at the time, obviously. Instant gratification, and what have you. But. Ugh. I know when to stop." She raises an eyebrow, leaves another gap in her speech. "Seriously, it's like this leftover donut Gail gave me from down there yesterday when I was in a rush to get back to work. Too sweet." She shakes her head again. "Sickly. In fact. She was probably trying to poison me, give me some sort of sugar OD."

Sam nods again, even more slowly than before. He narrows his eyes. Finds himself feeling concerned for her health. Considers telling her to throw away every grain of sugar that might be left in her life. Goes with something more reasonable and a question in the end; "It make you throw up?"

McNally sits bolt upright again, her shoulders going square. "Not…not exactly," she replies cautiously. "I mean…I felt like barfing…and I probably would've if I had the whole thing…but...yeah…no…I didn't exactly have my head down the toilet. It's not like it was forced down my throat, after all. I just didn't have any lunch. I was hungry. But, yeah. No way, no more donuts for me from that place."

Sam holds his breath for no good reason other than he has no idea if she is actually talking about what he wants her to be talking about. Whatever the case, his confidence is expanding along with the space in his chest. "Sounds…like a plan."

"I could just tell that it was no good for me," she explains further, not that Sam needs further clarification. Her eyes move to a spot on the ceiling before she looks back to Sam. "Know what I mean?"

"I do," he answers without any hesitation, worried that if he keeps nodding they might have to book him in for some CT scans as well. "So, uh. You're giving up sugar for good?"

"Not…" McNally starts, a new blush on her cheeks. "I mean. Yes. The fake stuff. I've totally quit. No fake sugar for me anymore. Only fructose. Or you know, the ones that come naturally. Well, I mean, I'll probably still eat the odd home-made cookie and cake…" She looks long and hard at Sam again. "Home made stuff is _absolutely_ the exception. I'm still eating that. Well, depending on who cooks it, of course."

Sam licks his lips. His mouth just went incredibly dry. And he can't get cupcakes out of his brain. He looks around for some water. By the time he's back with the program, McNally's holding out a full glass. "You need a straw?"

Sam shakes his head. Takes the water and sips. The cool liquid helps a whole bunch of things. For instance: he remembers it's his turn to talk. "Thanks." He clears his throat again and then puts the glass on the side table. Is about to talk about things that are sour, but finds himself distracted by the bag McNally dumped down before. "What's in there today?" he enquires, assuming it's for him, because it's the same bag she pulled a pack of cards out of yesterday, and a box set of _The Wire_ the day before that.

McNally jumps up and out of her seat faster than the impressive dive-roll she does on training days. "Shoot!"

Sam's heart damn near comes out of his chest. His eyes go straight to the window, concerned they might be under attack. When he realizes the world outside is doing nothing that might mean imminent death, he looks back to McNally, who by now has her hands on her face.

"I mean," she gasps, hands coming down to tentatively touch Sam's shoulder. "Sorry, Sam…I…god…that…"

He takes the hand of hers that is near him (but not close enough). He laughs a little, realizing her current state of mortification is to do with the word she used to denote whatever calamity it was that just raced through her brain. He tugs her back down, even manages to get her to sit on the edge of his bed. "You're not gonna pull some bullets out of there, are you?" he teases, rubbing his thumb over one of her sharp knuckles.

She hides her face with her other fist, laughing at last. "I'm such an idiot."

Sam squeezes the hand of McNally's he's got in his own. "We both are," he tells her simply, his voice way too warm and affectionate for how early in any relationship re-establishment this is. Aims for TO with what he says next. "Now. What's in the bag?"


	3. Milk

….

**Milk (with a bonus shot of espresso, and cream).**

….

When McNally finally stops trying to hide her face, Sam can see that her blush has gone gangbusters. He wants to pull her down - all the way on top of him. Trace his mouth over the pink -

"Just because I'm being careful about what I eat, doesn't mean you should be," McNally interrupts Sam's thoughts abruptly. It's a declaration that she makes really. It sounds like she's making a press release. Looks like it too. She's back to sitting up straight, and is remarkably still. "You died," she reminds him (yet again), stony face belied by a pout. "Twice." She clears her throat, softens her face. "_You_ can eat _whatever_ you want."

Sam's eyebrows are fixed way up near his hairline. And he is completely fixated on everything that comes out of her mouth. He's about to get very honest with her; tell her the only thing he'd like to taste right now is her, ask her to pull the curtain around, put a 'do not disturb' sign up on the door…

Only then, McNally goes from newsreader to schoolmarm in another blink of an eye, starts tut-tutting before she releases a groan. It's a noise that stirs something very deep inside Sam. (At this rate, _any_ noise that came out of her would make Sam feel physically capable of conquering the whole world).

She lifts a hand to near the spot where he wants to touch first; swipes at the loose hair that's been sweeping her forehead and tucks it behind her ear for once and for all.

He pleads with his eyes for her not to hide her face yet again with her hands.

"It's probably ruined by now," she moans, shoulders slumping at an attractive angle that makes her cardigan gape. "I meant to give it to you straight away, but then Oliver –"

"Andy," Sam says, eyes cranked up to pleading with her again. He smiles small when she finally maintains some eye contact. "However ruined it is… I want to see…"

They spend a solid eternity just looking at one another then. A whole universe of unspoken words settles in the space between them that is getting incrementally smaller. It's the most meaningful conversation they've ever had. He thinks of inviting her under the blanket, wrapping her up with it and himself -

They smile in unison eventually.

"I want whatever you've got," Sam confirms quietly, smile still there, and another squeeze of her hand.

McNally closes her eyes, just briefly, but enough for Sam to realize that she knows what he means. When she opens her eyes this time, there's a more serene look on her face. "Me too."

Sam desperately wishes he had the capacity to get up out of bed and carry her some place where there was no chance of interruption, ever -

She shuffles forward, enough to reach over and pick up the bag; tugging at the hand Sam's holding so she can use that one too. She peers inside of it, talks to whatever's in there for a while: "I, um. I had three attempts."

"Three goes, huh?" Sam feels a little lost without the eye contact and handholding. He eases his nerves by putting his palm on her thigh.

McNally doesn't flinch, just pauses and talks again to the bag. "It's just…I know it's winter and everything…but I thought it might help. So…um…I didn't want to give up."

Sam nods, internally making the most of the series of waves of relief that have washed across him today. He knows before she gives him the container what's been hiding inside the bag. He grins. "Well, I'm glad you didn't give up, and…it's not cold in here, so…"

McNally rolls her eyes at herself as she looks up. "Right. So, now it's going to be a melted _mess_…"

Sam can't help but rub his hand up her leg a little. Nothing untoward. He just wants to keep her (and himself) relaxed. "That's the best way to eat ice-cream, isn't it?"

She screws up her mouth, but Sam knows he's said the right thing. She laughs and lets some more nice silence hang in the air. "Might as well have just bought you a milkshake instead."

Sam sticks his tongue in his cheek, rolls it around and around; has to bite it a few times to stop it from poking out. He stares at her way too fondly for far too long with a part-open mouth.

McNally's blush this time could light a furnace. "I mean…" She rolls her eyes again, this time at Sam. Laughs brightly though after she's taken a breath. She stares him down when she's finally collected herself. "You know what I mean."

Sam can't keep the lunatic grin off his face. He'd give her an answer, except his tongue is still stuck inside his cheek.

McNally shakes her head; still with the blush and the laugh.

"Give it up," Sam manages, finally. He motions for her to lift up the lid and show him exactly what flavour it is.

She starts to open it, but then snaps the lid shut. She looks for all the world like she's about to give Sam a shopping list of excuses as to why it's not _perfect_, which…is an area that he can relate to real well.

"Ugh. First I tried to make it with _soy_ milk," McNally moans. "I thought…I mean. I know that stuff is meant to be good for you…" She blows out a loud breath. "And I know you're watching your health…"

Sam snorts, and squeezes her thigh gently. "Yeah…" He motions to his chest and current situation. "And look where _that_ got me." It's his turn to blow out some air then. "I'd hardly call the last year a health-kick. Entirely unbalanced diet and exercise regime is more like it." He keeps his eyes on McNally as he feels her fidget under his hand. "I am _never_ drinking green tea again. Healthy, my ass. And it really doesn't taste good. It's some kind of weak substitute that makes you _think_ you've been warmed." He does some more head-shaking, stares McNally down the barrel. "In fact, I don't give a damn if coffee gives me heartburn for the rest of my life. I'm back on full strength caffeine. Straight up. Maybe I'll even have three cups a day. More if the coffee station stays stocked."

Andy's got an eyebrow pointed in the vicinity of the now muted _Bonanza_, but there's a broad grin she's hiding as well, Sam knows it for sure. "You won't get sick of it?" she asks, eyes going from wide to narrow. "I mean…that's a _lot_ of coffee…and coffee is strong…"

"Nope." Sam interjects. "Could _never_ be sick of it. Coffee is awesome. Detoxes are stupid. If I need to tone down on my espresso intake, I'll just have it with milk." He smiles some more at her, makes sure she knows he's regretful for giving up on the best things in his life; "Full cream only. No substitutes."

McNally does grin broadly then, teeth and all. "You could just go the whole nine yards and have it with cream."

"Yes!" Sam exclaims, happy she's found the beaver's handcuffs. "_That's_ what I'm talkin' about. Coffee and_ cream_, I want the lot." He tips his chin toward the container. Pats some more at her thigh. "So. Is that the flavour you made?"


	4. Pistachio Nuts

_A/N Apparently it's World Pistachio Day on February 26, people. This is something to be celebrated, I think._

_Also: Happy birthday to the awesome Marys (aka MD14)!_

...

**Pistachios (of course)**

...

McNally smacks at the hand Sam tries to get on the container again. "If you'd let me finish my story..." she huffs.

It's Sam's turn to go very still then. He swallows a lump in his throat, starts feeling giddy as well. He tips back into the firm pillows behind him, and tries to keep calm. McNally's bottom lip has gone very red by the time he gets back to watching her mouth.

She turns to the side table and places the ice-cream container down there. Snatches at his glass of water while she's near it, and drinks whatever is left. Only leaves a couple of smudges of dusty pink lip-gloss behind.

Sam stares at those for a while.

When McNally's done with the water, she edges her way closer to him and swivels her ass. "Can you..."

Sam takes the hint quickly, shuffles himself enough so she can get in a position that's right by his side. For as narrow as the bed is, it's actually not uncomfortable. She's up a little higher than he is, but it doesn't feel awkward at all. (Aside the fact that there is now basically no space for error). Her warm arm is right up against his shoulder, her leg touching his. Well, except for the fact that there's a starchy white sheet between both. All in all, Sam feels pretty settled in for the night.

"My next attempt was semifreddo..." McNally continues, when she's arrived where she wants. She wriggles a fraction more; chest and hips landing at an angle that is awfully familiar to Sam. (He has officially gone beyond being merely impressed with this particular 'once upon a time'.) "I mean. Like. I don't have an ice-cream maker, you know?"

Sam didn't know that. Had never thought about it until now. "Well...I guess there's enough ice-cream stocked on supermarket shelves not to warrant it, right?" he offers up, doing his best to be helpful.

McNally looks down at him, forlorn. There might be a replay of events going on in her mind. "Pfft," she snorts. "And not one within a 50km radius of me that sells_ pistachio_."

Sam's eyebrows start climbing again. She _made _him fucking pistachio semifreddo or ice-cream or who the hell cares what kind of confectionary ice? Because she most likely wanted things not to be awkward between them when he woke up? On the off-chance he was sticking close to the truth as JD?

Sam loves this woman.

He opens his mouth to tell her just that –

"But it's like a _cheat's_ version, Sam," McNally butts in. "I taste tested it. Traci did too." She twists her mouth, and wiggles again. "Actually, we might've eaten the whole batch. I mean. It _was_ pretty good. Really nice actually. Too good to waste," she continues, her brain getting caught up with whatever the heck her and Nash did in the kitchen that day. "It just...it just wasn't _right_. The texture. It wasn't _ice-cream_, Sam."

Sam opens his mouth once again, unsure of whether an '_I love you'_ from him will compensate for the disdain that's evident on McNally's face at this point in time. She looks utterly miffed.

She sighs loudly and picks at a loose thread on her jeans. "I thought maybe it had to do with the nuts."

Sam frowns, closes his mouth. Wishes to whatever gods are looking over them that he had been in her kitchen to show her what to do with the damn nuts. "Did you roast 'em?"

Andy turns her head slowly toward him, mouth gaping. "You've _made_ this stuff before?"

Sam shuffles further down on the bed, until he's lying with his head rested completely on the stack of hard pillows. He smiles small. "Used to watch my mom. I was really, really young when pistachio was her flavour of choice." He keeps his eyes fixed on McNally. "But I remember the smell. Basically burned my hand on the oven trying to get to them one day."

Andy nods, doesn't utter a word.

Sam figures they've got all the time in the world for the full story, but for now he settles with; "She wouldn't let me eat 'em until they were part of the ice-cream." He doesn't bother trying to imitate the voice of his mother, but it feels good to start letting McNally in on that world: _"It's the ice-cream that brings out their best flavour, Sammy."_

Andy smiles down at him. The tilt of her head nearly lands her ponytail on his face. For a second he thinks she's going to lean further and kiss him. Instead, she bites on her lip. "Your mom was totally right," she says, soft tones creeping into her voice.

Sam tips his chin once in the smallest of nods.

There's another silence between them. This one possibly longer than the eternity that passed by earlier. She's so close he can smell, feel and hear every breath that she takes.

Sam rallies, deciding they really do have the rest of their lives to go into detail, if that's what she wants. Right now, he just needs –

"Turns out that I like pistachio ice-cream too," McNally murmurs, eyes cast down as she inspects the section of sheet that's tucked under Sam's chest. "When the nuts have been properly cooked..."

Sam grins, sucks in a cheek. "So. You figured out you had to roast 'em on your third go at this?"

Her eyes flicker upward, glinting. There's also a nice smile and blush on her face. "I figured if I was going to go to all the trouble of _making_ ice-cream, I might as well do everything I could to make it _right_." She shifts, rests her head on the pillow and right next to his. "Full cream. Roasted nuts. No short cuts. Ice-cream."

Sam nudges his shoulder softly into hers. Keeps a watch on her face. "Ice-cream the hard way, huh?"

"Seems like it's the only way. The best way," she nods, a little wistful. "There was a _lot_ of stirring involved. Like. A lot." Her face turns directly to his. "Every 15...maybe 20 minutes." She pauses. "But...I think. I'm pretty sure it's worth it."

It's not really possible for Sam to get his body any closer to her at this point, but he does strain his neck a little trying to inch his mouth closer to hers. They might as well be kissing by now. "I'm sure you're spot on," he mutters. He scans his eyes down to her lips, where they'll wait for an answer to his next question: "So. Do I get to actually taste it...or what?"

McNally's lips twitch. If Sam hadn't been watching, he would've missed it for sure. "Absolutely," she whispers, so soft he can hardly hear her. It's just as well he's reading her lips.

Sam's just about to close his eyes and go the final centimetre into the kiss, only his plan is thwarted when McNally bounces off the pillows to sit straight up again.

"But only if you share it with me," she chimes. (Gleefully, might Sam add).

She turns to pick up the container again. He can even hear the clatter of a spoon in the drawer. "Oh," she says, turning back to Sam with everything in the world he might possibly want. "And there's a surprise."

Sam's eyebrows go up. He's already in shock, and can't think of another thing she could possibly dish up that would knock him off his feet (again). "Awesome," he says, intrigued. "I love surprises."

"Good." McNally nods once, ponytail bobbing hard. "I hope you're prepared to let your nuts date some fruit."


	5. Raspberries

...

**Raspberries**

...

Sam gnaws at the inside of his cheeks, and stifles a laugh. "Can't wait to see where this is heading," he mutters eventually. He can't prevent his grin from erupting when McNally lets loose with one of those high-beam smiles that he missed so much this past year.

"You'll need to sit up a little," she bosses, evidently growing more confident by the second. She points the spoon at him and scoops some air in an upward direction to emphasize what she's trying to get him to do.

Sam complies, shuffling slowly until he's at angle that will let him taste whatever it is that she's made. "Only 'cause you asked so nicely," he teases.

"And now close your eyes," she demands, inching her way back closer to him.

Sam furrows his brow. "Seriously?" He'd much prefer to keep looking at her while he eats.

"Yes, seriously," McNally answers, deadpan. "I want you to savour the taste. I didn't spend the entirety of last night making this, for you to not fully appreciate it."

Sam really can't argue with that. He feels pretty darn lucky that she's spending time on thoughtful gestures that are all about him as it is. He sighs, resigned to not being able to watch her expressions as she watches his.

He shuts his eyes. Squeezes them tight.

"Ready when you are," he confirms, before dropping his mouth open to wait for the first bite.

"Okay," McNally states quietly. "I'm comin' in."

And, Jesus, Sam really wants to open his eyes. (Tackle her hard into the bed and put his hand down her pants. Bite at her neck and go in himself.) -

The whole room now smells like it's been drowned in McNally and her damn confectionary; this sweet, salty, tangy aroma that feels like it's clinging on to his skin, seeping into his veins.

He waits, uses the delay in proceedings to picture her from behind his eyelids. It's not hard to do; her ponytail gone messy, and a curious look on her face. He'll bet Ollie's lunch for the next twenty shifts that she's scouring every inch of Sam's face too. Taking note of every wrinkle and mark. Probably she's counting his eyelashes. Admiring their length -

(She used to do that a lot, post-coital; stroke his cheek and tell him she always had a thing for his eyes).

She's likely got her own mouth part the way open as well, tongue poking out as though she's about to eat too.

He's about to ask her what the hold-up is when he feels the cool spoon as it approaches his mouth.

"Just a little to start with, okay?" she tells Sam as the ice-cream reaches the tip of his tongue. "So you don't freeze your brain."

It hasn't melted much at all, actually. Despite the several minutes it's been sitting around since she got here. It's a little soft, but he really likes ice-cream that isn't frozen to death, so –

He sucks slow on the spoon, almost opens his eyes with the burst of flavour that lands. It's creamy and salty. And not too sweet…just a little bit tart…no doubt a result of the berries she's added in there. He knows exactly what they are. They're a fruit that he remembers McNally obsessing over before.

The ice-cream, and all it's contents, are perfect.

"That is…" Sam licks at his lips to catch any that's dripped. He keeps his eyes closed, can't help the smirk that crosses his face. "Holy moly…"

Andy's laugh is big and sharp. "Thought you said moly wasn't a word."

He pops his eyes open then; gives her a wink. "Is in my books."

McNally sinks her teeth into her lip. "Pretty good, right?"

"Are you crazy?" Sam chides, rolling his eyes at her. "It's…the most awesome ice-cream I've ever had."

She blushes then, only a slightly less red than the raspberries he knows she added into the dessert. "Really?"

"Ice-cream, pistachios, raspberries," Sam lists, counting out a finger in front of her as he lists each. "Match made in heaven, for sure." It's true though, it's like the raspberries are the bright, sunshine burst that add a whole new level of complexity in texture and taste.

McNally nods happily, scooping up a spoonful for herself. "I don't know why I didn't think of it the first time around. I found a recipe when I was googling 'best homemade ice-creams' and thought I would just try. You know how much I love raspberries," she states casually, before putting the spoon in her mouth.

Sam stares at her for a little while, revelling in how adorable she looks as she tastes the flavours herself. For some reason his mind starts drifting again to Sunday's in the park with McNally and a bunch of kids that are theirs.

"I love raspberries too," Sam says quietly, after another batch of silence and spoonful that McNally feeds into his mouth.

She pauses, spoon mid-air. "There's not too many in here?"

Sam shakes his head. "Perfect amount of everything, is what I'm thinking."

Sam almost tells her that it can become a tradition for them, and that the recipe can be passed down to their kids, and grandkids. But he reins himself in just in time. Remembers the pile of crap that this past 12 months have been. How much damage has been done across the whole time they've known one another. How a few stories and a bowl of ice-cream don't a relationship make –

Still. He knows it's a start.

She leans across and rubs a thumb over his chin, no doubt wiping at a drip of some cream.

"I missed you."

Sam's just as surprised as McNally looks when they say the same thing at the same time.

They stare at one another, mirrored grins, and a new level of nerves…


	6. Chocolate (a dash of chilli too)

_A/N: Final 'bite'. Thanks for reading, and those taking time to review. As always, kind words and encouragement have been very much appreciated!_

* * *

….

**Chocolate (and a dash of chilli too).**

….

"I…"

"Sorry..."

"You go..."

"Okay..."

So. It could be a whole new problem with communication if they can't stop talking in unison now. Sam shakes his head, laughing -

Andy does too.

It's probably just as well that Oliver's voice interrupts the chorus. "You two cooks finished swapping baking tips then?"

The expression on Shaw is priceless as he stalls at the door, suddenly realizing what he may have walked in on. His mouth is dropped open and eyes wider than that time Sam let it slip that he couldn't stop missing McNally, no matter how hard he tried. Ollie had obviously rounded the corner expecting to see Sam and McNally in similar positions he'd left them both in. Instead, he finds that Andy has made herself comfortable on Sam's bed, very...very close to Sam. Also: she's taken to spoon-feeding her ex-partner-TO-boyfriend (or whatever the current status might be).

"I'm interrupting..." It's the first time Sam's seen a blush on Shaw. His buddy starts waving a hand, an apology probably. The other hand is carrying a tray with two takeaway cups.

Sam is about to make a sarcastic remark about his colleague's timing, and tell him to get the hell out of the room. To come back in about 40 years. Sometime after he and McNally have made all their kids. Or at least sometime after they have made amends completely.

Only then, Sam remembers that Oliver Shaw is one of the few people that always had his back. The guy is 100% invested in Sam's happiness. Together they have been through the best and the worst. He can't deny his friend at least a viewing of what's being unpacked in this room tonight. Besides, Sam's pretty sure that whatever Ollie's got in those cups is something Andy might want, 'fake' sugar embargo, or not.

Sam looks to McNally, smiles small, reaches across to take a hold of the hand she has free of the ice-cream and spoon. He squeezes it gently, an assurance that they will pick-up on their conversation, one day at a time.

She squeezes right back.

Then Sam looks to Oliver again. His friend is still stuck in the doorway, now shuffling from one foot to the other.

"Come in, buddy," Sam says, helping his friend off the hook.

Oliver steps forward, tentatively.

"Whatchya got there?" Andy enquires, pointing a finger at the tray he's holding and lending a hand to make Oliver feel at ease.

Ollie smiles, quick and gone. As though he's over the fact that he interrupted a potential make-up make-out. "Thought you two could do with a nice, hot beverage. Something to warm the cockles of your hearts...something...sweet, but not so sweet all your teeth fall out..." He approaches Sam's bed, growing in confidence. "There's some extra spice in there too." He stares at the cups, pointedly. "Chilli breaks hexes I'm told."

Sam and Andy grin at their friend. He never gives up.

"Chilli, huh? Is that...Please tell me that's chilli hot chocolate..." Andy gasps, dropping everything else she's been holding to reach for the cups and passing one over to Sam.

"I take it this is categorized as the kind of sugary stuff you're _not _giving up?" Sam teases, winking at her as he blows at the steam rising out of the cup she gave him.

McNally pokes out her tongue. "Cacao seeds are _natural_, Sam."

Sam raises his eyebrows. He's not going to argue. In fact, he's looking forward to watching her drink the stuff. Listen to her moan as it hits the right spots. "Of course," he agrees, holding his cup up for a _cheers _with her, before taking a sip of the liquid.

McNally puts her mouth to her cup at the same time.

"Salute!" Oliver mutters, watching Sam and Andy closely; head swivelling from one to the other as though it's a tennis match that he's at.

It's _good_. Sam can't deny that. Can't see how his sugar levels after all the ice-cream and chocolate that he's had tonight won't have him comatose again either. Still. It's worth it. _She's_ worth it –

Sam hears a long moan from McNally, who has now got her eyes closed, and is holding onto the cup as though her life depends on it. "It's... _beautiful_," she remarks, finally opening her eyes and staring at Sam.

From somewhere in the background, Sam hears a loud sigh from Oliver, who remarks; "How sweet it is..."

"It is," Sam says, cutting in. Sam is more interested in listening to McNally drink her hot chocolate again than what Ollie has to say at this point in time. He stares at her, waiting for her to take another sip. "But you should probably taste it again. Just to be sure."

She gives Sam a crooked smirk, slowly catching on to what he's after. She closes her eyes and takes a second and then third sip. She moans again. Opens her eyes slowly and looks back at Sam. "I'm absolutely positive that this chilli hot chocolate is what I want...it's everything that I need."

Sam smiles, takes another couple of sips of his own. "Me too. I've never been more sure of anything in my life than how amazing this drink is. It's exactly to my taste."

Oliver's got his eyebrows somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling as he watches the exchange. "I'll uh. I'll give you the business card of the place I got it from then, yeah? They even deliver the stuff."

"No need," Sam shakes his head. "I know where to find it." He continues looking at McNally, who is staring back at him, grinning.

Ollie clears his throat, interrupting the smitten looks that are being exchanged between McNally and Sam. "Alrighty then. Uh. So I've got my sign-off, they're letting me outta here tonight... Celery's here. She's uh. Taking me home. Insists on keeping a close eye on me for the next 48 hours. At least…"

Sam wasn't listening too closely to what Shaw had to say, but he got the gist of it. "Good for you, buddy." He continues to stare at McNally, hopes like hell she'll offer up some nursing when it's his time to transition back home.

"That's wonderful news, Oliver," Andy smiles, briefly glancing at Shaw before she turns back to Sam. "I'm sure you're in the best hands."

Oliver grunts, no doubt bemused by his friends. "Speaking of hands. You need a lift home tonight, McNally? I'm sure Celery won't mind…"

Sam shakes his head. "Give her a ride to mine."

Andy furrows her brow, confused.

"You gonna make her clean up over there, Swarek?" Oliver snorts. "Don't you think it's a little early for that?"

Sam rolls his eyes. Tilts his head in the direction of the bedside table. "Second drawer, Andy," he says quietly, ignoring the glare Oliver is shooting at him.

McNally still looks completely perplexed, but moves to open what Sam's pointing to. She stares inside when she opens it, doesn't say a single word.

"Take them," he insists gently. "Use her as much as you want. The house too."

McNally puts her hand inside the drawer slowly, carefully. So slow and careful she looks like she's about to cut the wires of a bomb. She pulls the only contents out at the same rate, holds them up in the air as though they're about to explode. "You sure about this?"

"Andy," Sam utters. "I'm sure about everything. My keys are yours."

She looks back at Sam, lip wavering. "I..."

Sam smiles small, hoping to reassure her. "As long as you're my ride home when the time comes…" He winks, teasing, because he feels like he can.

She nods quickly. "I am totally your ride," she agrees, determined.

Which is when Celery walks in. "Oh…"

"S'okay, pumpkin," Oliver chuckles. "Bonnie and Clyde here were just getting their story straight. We're giving McNally a ride over to Sam's…if that's okay with you?"

Celery raises an eyebrow, checking out the other occupants of the room. Sam can't help but wonder if the woman is casting some kind of spell. He's basically expecting her to do a nose twitch any second now…who knows, maybe she already did –

"Taking Andy to Sam's?" Celery nods. "We can definitely do that." She smiles at McNally. "Ollie and I will be waiting outside." On that, the woman that Shaw is completely bewitched by marches over and takes him by the hand, urging him to take her lead. "Let's give these two a few seconds alone."

Oliver barely gets a chance to wave goodbye before they vanish. "I'll visit tomorrow, buddy…" Sam hears his voice down the hall.

Sam only just catches his breath before McNally leans in, kisses him right on the lips for the first time since...

Well, since before everything about them got turned on its head.

He catches at her hand, holds her in that position for as long as he can. The kiss is gentle and careful, but it's a good one. He really has missed her _a lot_. And for as much as he knows there are a bunch of conversations that need to be had, he knows tonight was a good start.

"See you for breakfast," McNally whispers, pulling herself away slowly, a growing smile on her face. "I'll hide some pancakes under my coat."

Sam grins. "Maple syrup as well?"

McNally nods, smile now cracking her cheeks. "Bananas too."

Sam laughs, watching her back out the door. "Andy…" he calls when she's almost out of sight.

She pops her head back around the doorway. The delighted grin is still stuck on her face. "Yeah?"

"I love you."

She beams back at him, doesn't miss a beat. "I love you too, Sam."

They continue to grin at one another for longer than they probably should, the moment broken only by an irritated expression of the nurse that is trying to get into the room.

_Fin._


End file.
